A Meeting of Rivals
by LynstHolin
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy is the cutest boy Rose Weasley has ever seen, and when they are assigned to sit together in potions class, she wants to impress him.


"Welcome, welcome , welcome to potions. I'm Professor Slughorn, and I can't wait to get to know you first years." The elderly, walrus-like man's gaze wandered to every student, lingering on two in particular: a ginger-haired girl and a very blond boy. "Now, this class is a little unusual in that there are members of two Houses in it. I believe this is good. There is no earthly reason for Slytherins to only speak to Slytherins. I was Slytherin, and some of my favorite people have been Gryffindors. But I see only Slytherins sitting with Slytherins and Gryffindors with Gryffindors."

Rose Weasley and Albus Potter exchanged worried glances. Were they going to be separated? Rose hoped not. Her cousin Al was her best friend.

"I was anticipating this situation, so I have made a mixed-House seating chart," the Professor continued.

Oh, no. Rose was going to have to share a table with a Slytherin? She scanned the room subtly, looking at students with green and silver crests on their robes. Most of the girls had smooth, perfect hair, unlike the ruddy _bush _Rose had. Many of them wore little diamonds in their pierced ears. A couple of them already wore make-up. Rose had attended Muggle school for a while, and she knew that these were not the sort of girls that were going to be nice to a girl with far more in the way of brains than looks or style.

"At the table here in front, Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy."

Rose had the fair Weasley skin that showed blushes easily, and her cheeks were burning now. Her father had made _such _an embarassing comment while they were waiting at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "Don't get too friendly with young Malfoy," he'd said in that loud, aggravating way of his, "Your Grandfather Arthur would never forgive you if you married a pure-blood."

The boy her father had been talking about was the cutest boy that Rose had ever seen. When her father had made that comment, he'd turned and looked at Rose. _He'd heard_. Rose had wanted to draw her cloak over her head in embarassment. Now she was going to be sitting with him?

When Rose stood up to move, she noticed every Slytherin girl giving her evil looks. "What's with her _hair?_" one girl stage-whispered to another. Eyes cast down to the floor, Rose took her assigned seat, looking at Scorpius from the corner of her eyes when he sat next to her. He was _so _cute, and taller than any of the other first year boys. One thing Rose had learned from Muggle school: boys that good-looking were usually mean to girls like Rose. But she'd heard her mother talk about how good Malfoys were with potions. Rose knew she was not the prettiest girl, or the most fashionable girl, or the richest girl, but she was sure she could impress the boy sitting next to her with her brains.

...

As he got up, Scorpius grimaced at Marcellus Flint. So much for being able to sit with his best friend. And a Weasley? He'd heard his mother and her friends gossiping about the Weasley family. Poor, badly dressed, dim-witted, unattractive... Well, the girl wasn't all that bad-looking, except for her large front teeth and crazy hair. He could see her looking at him sneakily. He knew when people were looking at him. It happened a lot. He recognized her from the train station. Her father had made some ridiculous comment that had made Scorpius' mother sneer.

"Now that we've got the seating situation all sorted out, it's time to learn," the Professor continued. "Can anyone tell me what this is?" He held up a glass container with a canted nozzle coming out of the top. Rose immediately thrust one arm up in the air as far as she could. "Weasley?"

"That is an alembic," she stated crisply, "which is for making potions and performing alchemy."

"Very good. You've inherited your mother's cleverness. And this?" The professor held aloft a horrible looking... thing. The only time Scorpius had seen anything like it was when his mother's Himalayan cat coughed something up on the drawing room carpet. Rose's arm went up again. A couple of girls snickered. "Weasley?"

"It's a bezoar, a stone from the stomach of a goat, and a nearly universal antidote for poison."

Really? All the bezoars Scorpius had seen before had been smooth and clean. How had the Weasley girl known what that gruesome mess was?

"Very good, my girl. And this?" He placed a glass case holding a gigantic amphibian on his desk.

Rose's arm went up. The Slytherin girl behind her hissed, "_Show-off_."

"Yes, Weasley?"

"That is an Ecuadorian Howler Frog. Its skin can be milked to produce a cure for dragon pox."

"Excellent!" The Professor beamed. "It's going to be a pleasure to have you in my classroom, Weasley. Thank heaven you take after your mother more than your father."

_Blast_. The expectations that Scorpius' family had for him, _especially_ in potions class, were very high. He was going to have to compete with this buck-toothed brainiac?

"Now," the Professor continued after clearing his throat, "does anyone know what happens when you combine these three things? Anyone? Weasley? No one?" He rubbed his hands together. "Oh, are you in for a treat. Let's get to work."

The Professor set a glass tank holding a Howler Frog on their table, along with a metal spatula. "Get your dragon-hide gloves out, Malfoy. If you touch that frog barehanded, all your hair will fall out." Scorpius noticed that Rose had her gloves on already.

"Does anyone know the proper way to milk a frog's skin?" the professor asked. Scorpius knew how to milk spiders and snakes for venom, but frogs? He hadn't a clue. Of course, Weasley knew. She picked up the frog and, ignoring the panicked shreiking that gave it its name, she deftly used the spatula to lightly skim off the white fluid the frog exuded from its skin.

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said, "You do not scrape the frog with the spatula. You _stroke _it." A few boys snickered. "Now, drip the exudate into the neck of the alembic. Next, you will use the alembic to distill the essence of the frog's exudate and let it drip on the bezoar.

Scorpius watched resentfully as Weasley used her wand to heat up the bottom of the alembic. The white frog exudate bubbled and evaporated; the steam condensed at the top of the alembic and rolled down the neck, landing on the bezoar in Weasley's cauldron. The bezoar steamed and then made a strange writhing motion. It popped out of the cauldron and bounced around the table squeaking. Scorpius flinched back when it almost touched him. Slughorn clapped his hands. "Potions are often thought of as being, well, a second-class magical art, inferior to spell-casting. But you have just seen the creation of life from frog slime and petrified hair. Anything is possible with potions. _Anything_. That is what I want to you to take away as this day's lesson."

...

Rose was very pleased with herself as she watched the bezoar romp happily on the table-top. No one else had succeeded. She smiled and held a hand out, and the bezoar-beast leapt onto her palm, chirping happily. It felt warm and soft... alive. It began to roll around in her hand. "It thinks I'm its mum," Rose giggled, and glanced up at Scorpius, expecting that he would be suitably impressed with what she'd done. But his misty-gray eyes were cold, and the corners of his mouth were turned down. It was an oddy adult expression, and it made Rose feel funny in some ways that she couldn't explain. The plummeting sensation in her stomach was easily explained, though: disappointment. The cutest boy Rose had ever seen now disliked her.

"Class is dismissed," the Professor said.

Rose got up so quickly her chair slammed into the table behind her her. She fumbled, dropping her potions text and quills on the floor. As she squatted down to pick up her things, Malfoy bent and spoke into her ear. "No one likes a know-it-all," he drawled.


End file.
